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Thursday, November 2, 2017

Danger in a Rural Town

Did you know that in the state of
Iowa, we have one of the most disturbing and long running cold case? The
Villisca Ax Murders that happened in June of 1912. An unknown assailant entered
the home and using the owner’s ax, slaughtered the whole family and two others,
then disappeared into the night. To this day it remains a mystery of who did
it. And as a little post-Halloween fun, the house is apparently haunted. The
current owner rents it out per night for those willing to deal with the
paranormal.

Yes, Iowa’s bigger cities and
towns have the typical violence one would associate with places with large
populations, such as gang violence, homicides, riots, and assaults. But what
some people don’t expect is that same kind of danger to occur in rural towns.
Yet, it happens. Even in the far flung corners of the state, and I live in one
of those corners.

Setting my latest series in a
rural area, and then writing about the dangers that can come knocking has been
fun, and an eye-opener for me. Why? Because I took that old adage “write what
you know” to heart and did it. I know rural life, and all its little nuances. I
know of the dangers that lurk in the shadows and come to head when tragedy
strikes. This is what gives the books depth and layers. A real feast for the
senses. And a reality check, because leaving your doors unlocked when you live
in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles of crop fields isn’t always a
good thing.

Now it’s over and time to move
onto a new, fresh idea. And who knows? Maybe it’ll be in another rural town,
somewhere in the good ole USA.

Liar, Liar

(Book #4 of McIntire
County)

By Winter Austin

A cowboy sheriff and a by-the-book FBI agent team up to
solve a string of murders and arson in this satisfying, slow-burning McIntire
County series finale.

Returning to Eider, Iowa, wasn’t in FBI agent Liza
Bartholomew’s game plan, but when word reaches her that an elusive scam artist
she’s been tracking for years was spotted there, she heads south. Vengeance for
his victims and her career are on the line, and she won’t rest until justice is
served.

However, Eider’s sheriff makes for one big roadblock.
Between the fallout over his recent close re-election, two gruesome homicides,
a rash of arsons, and personal grief weighing on his soul, the last thing Shane
Hamilton has time for is a determined FBI agent in his county.

But when it becomes evident that the crime wave and her case
are intertwined, Shane makes a bold move that flies in the face of his
longstanding vow: He gets close to Liza to share professional and personal
secrets.

As the body count mounts, Liza and Shane find themselves and
everyone they love in the immediate crosshairs. What will they sacrifice to
stop the cold-blooded killer in time?

Enough time to move on, to forget
what happened that night sixteen years ago. Yet the anniversary would roll
around and he couldn’t stop the binge. Sipping on those memories, downing them
one after another, drowning in them until he was drunk. Letting her take him to
a dark place in his soul he could never purge. By dawn’s light, he was left
wasted and broken, a shell of a man, lying on the floor. Another piece of his
soul lost, buried with her in that cold, dark hole.

Shane Hamilton had lived in this
hell for so long, it became a ritual. Every April he prepared for it, taking
off the day of and the day after. Even during those bleak six years where he
was dodging bullets and bombs, he was swirling in a black abyss. This year, the
anniversary fell on Saturday.

Hands braced on the tile walls,
he watched the water snake along his body and pool at his bare feet. No matter
what effort he put in to cleansing his body, or mind and soul, the water never
baptized him from his sins.

Twinkling under the harsh
electric light, the slim, gold circle danced and twirled at the end of the
silver chain. She had danced and twirled under the smoky haze of neon lights,
laughing and flirting, making promises that were to never come true.

Shane gripped the diamond ring,
ceasing its merry spin, and flattened it to his chest. The emergency room
doctor had removed it from her finger and given it to Shane, pity gleaming in
the man’s eyes. The doctor’s fingers were heavy as they pressed the ring into
his palm; the memory of the band’s slick feel from the blood was branded into
his palm. From then on, the ring dangled from a chain around his neck, settling
in a place near his heart. A reminder of what he lost in a moment of stupidity.

The jangle of his phone drifted
into the bathroom. In the last half hour, he’d heard it go off five times.
Lifting his face to the spray of the shower, he commenced with continuing to
ignore the persistent caller.

A thrumming ache wove through his
muscles and seeped into his bones. Too many years on the rodeo circuit riding
some of the rankest broncs and his multiple tours in the Sandbox had left
behind a different kind of pain he easily remedied with a few aspirin. Though
it was getting difficult to ease the hurt, especially after a night spent on a
hardwood floor. Shane turned fifty next month, but felt all of seventy.

Finishing his poor man’s shower,
he shut off the faucet and then stepped out of the stall. Once more the
old-fashioned telephone ring of his cell phone reached him. Toweling off, he
turned his back to the open door.

Sunday morning rays peeked
through the gaping brown, plaid curtains. Before passing away, his mother had
decorated her little haven with homey touches only a cowboy like himself would
enjoy. She had done it because she missed her husband—who passed two years
before she did—and for Shane, who was to inherit the family farm. His mother
must have believed in her heart that he’d leave this world as a bachelor, never
daring to step into that minefield of love again. In reverence to his saintly
mother, Shane hadn’t changed a thing.

He wrapped the towel around his
waist, and then staggered into his bedroom to dress.

Avoiding the bed with its twisted
sheets, he pulled on a pair of jeans and skipped his duty shirt. Today was a
dark blue, plaid shirt kind of day. Finger combing his tightly coiled hair, he
stepped into his boots and carefully picked a path down the hall. Each step
sent flares of pain up his spine. It might be time to consider taking up Doc
Drummond on his offer to make an appointment with an arthritis specialist in
Iowa City.

Shane removed the half-full
coffee pot from the warmer and slowly poured a cup. Lifting the stout mug to
his lips, he inhaled the aroma of dark roast and then sipped the strong brew.
During his travels all over the world, Shane had fallen in love with Community
coffee in Louisiana. He sniffed, reality punching him in the gut. Louisiana had
been his little trick rider’s home state; Community had been her favorite
coffee. And what she’d loved, he loved, too.

Today was going to be rough. He
had to find a way to get past this.

Rummaging through the cabinets,
he upended a box of Pop-Tarts and snatched a package. Tearing into the foil
with his teeth, he grunted as he bit through both pastries. Almost fifty and
still eating like a kid. If she could see him now, she’d probably laugh.

His phone went off like a
banshee. Damn it to hell and back! He made a crooked path to the table where
the infernal machine continued to squeal. Seven missed calls and eighteen text
messages glared at him.

“Shit.” He stabbed a blunt finger
at the speakerphone icon. “Murdoch, this better be damn important to interrupt
me on my sabbatical.”

“How damn important is it to you
that there’s a body in the river, boss?”

About the Author

Winter Austin perpetually answers the question “were you born in the winter?” with a flat “nope.” Living in the middle of Nowheresville, Iowa, with her husband, four teenagers, and two crazy dogs, Winter is trying to juggle a job while writing deadly romantic thrillers.

1 comment:

This is the second excerpt I have read and really like what I see. I think small town mysteries and suspense stories are gripping. The smallness of the community brings things, good and bad, to the surface so much faster. I look forward to reading LIAR, LIAR.

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A recipe that includes a dash of desperation, a smidgen of danger, a dollop of adventure and a healthy portion of passion. Sprinkle a happy ending on top and you have the perfect meal. - JUST ROMANTIC SUSPENSE